by Kelly, Diane
The relic would be right at home at Lu’s place.
He crouched down, risking both a hernia and the seams of his decades-old pants giving way. “I’ll get the bottom if you can grab—”
“No worries.” Nick easily scooped the chair up in his strong arms. “I got this.”
Carl grabbed the matching ottoman and I followed them out to the truck. I stepped ahead of Nick to lower the tailgate, and he slid the chair into the open bed. He took the ottoman from Carl and set that in the bed as well.
The three of us returned to the house for the desk. It, too, came from another era, a once-contemporary model made of fake wood and chrome, modern having morphed into retro.
“Let’s remove the drawers,” Nick suggested. “We don’t want them falling out on the drive over.”
“Good idea.”
While Carl pulled out the two drawers on the left, Nick removed the two on the right, discovering the December 1953 issue of Playboy hidden underneath the bottom one. Marilyn Monroe graced the cover. She wore an openmouthed smile and a revealing black-and-white dress cut low in front, her left arm raised high over her head as if she were riding a wild steer in a rodeo. Yippee kai yay!
Nick held up the magazine. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s been a naughty boy.” He arched an accusing eyebrow at Carl.
Carl blushed, the skin under his comb-over turning bright pink.
“Give him a break,” I said. “He was probably just a kid back then.”
“I was born that month!” Carl cried in his own defense. “Besides, it’s their inaugural issue. It’s a collector’s item. My father gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”
Nick eyed the cover. “Can’t blame you for keeping it. Marilyn was quite a looker.”
I scoffed, “You realize you’re ogling a woman who’d be old enough to be your grandmother if she were still alive? Maybe even your great-grandmother?”
Nick scowled. “Way to take the fun out of it.” He handed the magazine to Carl. “Here you go, buddy.”
While Carl and Nick each took one end of the desk to carry it out, I made two trips to carry the drawers, carefully situating them in the truck and cushioning them with a blanket to prevent them from being damaged in transit.
Carl returned to the front door, locked it, and stepped back into his yard, staring at the house. I stepped up on one side of him, Nick on the other.
“It’s a little hard to say good-bye to the place,” he said softly, his shoulders slumping with emotion. “My wife and I had a lot of good years here.”
I put a supportive hand on his back and gave it a little pat. We stood in silence for a moment, as if paying tribute to the time Carl had spent here.
“Except 1982.” He straightened, his resolve returning. “That year stunk.”
He didn’t elaborate, and we didn’t question him. From my own dating life and from watching my parents’ marriage evolve over the years I knew every relationship had its ups and downs, its happy years and its 1982s.
We returned to the truck, climbed in, and headed back onto the freeway to make our way to Lu’s house. The Lobo’s home featured green brick with lavender shutters and trim, a testament to both my boss’s colorful personality and what can happen when a neighborhood lacks a homeowners association and its attendant rules and regulations.
The instant we pulled into the driveway, Lu was out the door to meet us. She must’ve been watching from the window.
She flounced down the walk in a bell-bottom pantsuit, giving Carl a quick smooch after he descended from the truck. “I’ve cleared a place in the living room for your chair,” she said. “We’ll put your desk in the study next to mine.”
Nick circled around to the back of his truck and lowered the tailgate. Carl grabbed the ottoman while Nick wrangled the chair down from the bed and carried it over to Lu. “Lead the way.”
I grabbed one of the desk drawers and followed them inside. The last time I’d been to Lu’s house was shortly after she’d been diagnosed with cancer. I’d come to drive her to chemotherapy. She’d lost some of her hair and spunk during the ordeal, but luckily the treatments took and she’d been cancer-free and spunky since. With any luck, she and Carl would have lots of happy years together here.
Lu stopped and pointed to a spot next to her love seat. “Put it there.”
Nick plunked the chair down on the shag carpet. “How’s that?”
Lu waved her fingers. “Move it a couple inches to the right.”
Nick did as he was told.
She waved her fingers the other way. “Couple inches to the left.”
The chair was now back in the spot where Nick had first set it.
“Perfect,” Lu said.
The chair now in place, Carl placed the ottoman in front of it.
I set the drawer on the couch and we returned to the truck for the desk and remaining drawers. A few minutes later we had the desk situated in Lu’s study. It was a tight fit with all of the existing furniture in the room, but they could make it work.
Lu grabbed her purse. “Who’s up for pizza and beer? That’s standard compensation for moving services, isn’t it?”
Nick and I had talked earlier about going to my favorite sushi bar, but a double date on our boss’s dime sounded just as enticing.
“Let’s do it,” Nick said.
The four of us ended up at a neighborhood restaurant sharing an extra-large pizza, a pitcher of Lone Star, and a good time.
Carl slid a slice onto his plate. “I’ve been telling Luella that she should retire so we can spend more time together.”
Lu had been planning to retire shortly after I joined the IRS last year but had later changed her mind and decided to stay on the job. Was she rethinking that decision? “You gonna do it, Lu? Call it quits?”
“I wasn’t sure last year,” she said. “But after the cancer scare and another year under my belt, I’m ready. Besides, if I don’t get out of that position none of my senior agents can move up without relocating. It’s time. Of course I’m not going out the door until I find a suitable replacement. I want to leave the department in good hands.” She turned a pointed gaze on Nick. “On that note, would you be interested in the job, Nick?”
Nick froze, his beer at his lips. “Me? Director of Criminal Investigations?”
“It’s either you or Eddie,” she said. “You’re the two most senior agents.”
He set his glass down on the table. “Have you talked to Eddie about it?”
“I did,” Lu said. “He’s mulling it over.”
I wasn’t surprised. Eddie had filled in for Lu while she’d been out on medical leave and spent most of the time pulling his hair out. While handling her desk job was certainly much safer than working as an agent in the field, it came with an abundance of red tape and a fair share of headaches. Then again, it came with a nice bump in pay, too. Those extra dollars could more than cover the cost of the aspirin needed to deal with the headaches.
I cut a glance at Nick. He looked both flattered and wary.
“Can I mull it over, too?” he asked Lu.
“For a week or two,” she said. “Then I need a solid answer. First one to call dibs gets it.”
While I was excited that Nick had been given this opportunity, I found it nearly impossible to imagine the office without Lu in it. She’d be leaving some big shoes—or go-go boots—to fill.
After dinner, Nick and I left the two lovebirds in their new nest.
On the drive home, I asked Nick about the promotion. “Think you’ll take it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s a lot to consider. Fieldwork can be fun, but I’m not getting any younger and it might be nice to move up the chain. It would be less risky, and the hours would be more regular. That could be a plus for a family man.”
“Like Eddie, you mean.”
“Like any man who’s a father.” He eyed me intently. “You and I would make great babies, you know. They’d be strong and smart and tou
gh.”
“We would. Maybe I could find steel-toed baby booties for them to wear.”
He continued to look my way, as if assessing me.
“Eyes on the road, bucko.” After all, this was Dallas, where people braked for no apparent reason and took an exit by crossing three lanes of traffic at the last second.
“I’m just trying to picture you at Lu’s age. You know, with crow’s-feet and extra neck skin.”
“Why in the world would you want to do that?”
He fought a grin. “I have my reasons.”
I cut him a sideways look back, trying to visualize his dark hair turned gray, laugh lines around his mouth. Damn. Geriatric Nick still looked good. And if his current prowess was any indication, he’d never have a need for those little blue pills.
Despite my admonishment to keep his eyes on the road, he glanced my way once more. “You think we’d make it through a 1982 if we got married?”
Nick and I had been through so much together already. He’d seen me through a major head trauma and hospitalization after a target took a baseball bat to my head. Nick and I had faced down armed criminals together on multiple occasions, gone undercover together in a sleazy strip club, and pursued members of a violent drug cartel and the Mob. We’d survived an embarrassing phase where I’d gone gaga over my celebrity crush, made Nick feel like a fool, and nearly botched the case because of it. I’d even seen Nick through the loss of his beloved pet. We’d endured tragedy and sorrow, pain and humiliation, love and loss, good times and bad. But we’d endured.
I met his gaze and gave him a smile. “We’d kick 1982’s ass.”
chapter fourteen
Hoodwinked
Monday morning, Hana Kim—aka Kimberly Huang—poked her dark head into my office. “Morgan Walker nudged me back. We’re meeting at Chili’s in Addison on Thursday at six.”
“Good. I’ll see about getting you some backup.”
A blond head poked itself in next to Hana’s. Josh. “I can do backup.”
While Josh was our go-to guy for tech support, with his small stature and tendency to nearly wet himself when facing danger he didn’t exactly have a reputation for bravery. But if he wanted to prove himself, who was I to stand in his way? Especially since Hana gave me an almost imperceptible nod, letting me know she’d be okay with it. Like me, Hana was a woman who could take care of business.
“Thanks, Josh,” I said. “That would be great.”
“Can I bring Kira along?” he asked, referencing his Web designer girlfriend. “And charge the meal to your investigation?”
Sheesh. Maybe Josh wasn’t looking so much for an opportunity to prove himself as a chance to snag a free meal on my expense account. The tight-asses in Internal Accounting might balk at reimbursing Kira’s dinner, but if they did I’d cover it myself. I wanted to take Jack Smirnoff, or Morgan Walker, or whoever the hell he was to the mat. Not only for Julia, Nataya, and Leslie but for his other victims, too. It was bad enough to dupe people out of their money, but to take advantage of women who were merely looking for romance and companionship seemed especially cruel. I considered myself very lucky to have found Nick, and I hadn’t yet forgotten all the slimy, wart-covered frogs I’d had to kiss to get here. I wasn’t merely fighting for justice. I was fighting for love.
“Sure,” I told Josh. “Bring Kira.”
The matter settled, the three of us went back to work.
Later that morning, I drove to the KCSH studio, timing my arrival to coincide with the end of Flo Cash’s Cash Flow Show. That woman owed me an explanation. And an apology. Eating takeout in her front yard wasn’t exactly how Nick and I had planned to spend our Friday night. We’d planned to eat takeout at his place and fall asleep on his couch halfway though a movie on Netflix. Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound much better, but we worked hard all week and when Friday finally came around we were tired.
As I pulled into the parking lot, Flo’s voice came across the airwaves. “Gotta tell you folks. If you’re looking for a luxury vehicle, I can’t recommend Ledbetter Cadillac highly enough. Great cars, great service. Next time you’re in the market for a new car, head on over to Ledbetter Cadillac and tell them Flo Cash sent you.”
Oddly, though, Flo’s blue Cadillac was nowhere to be seen. She was here at the station, wasn’t she? She had to be, right? I mean, her show was on the air. Of course it could be a repeat of a previously recorded show, but it didn’t seem to be. After all, she’d commented on the cloudy weather and today’s skies were gray and overcast.
I parked and climbed out of my vehicle, striding to the front door of KCSH in my cherry-red steel-toed Doc Martens. The shoes might be a little funny looking, but they were great for kicking ass, crunching nuts, and serving as door stops when a tax evader attempted to slam a door closed on me. The soles also provided perfect traction should a foot pursuit become necessary. The only way to improve upon them would be to add some sort of rocket boosters.
I pulled the door open and went inside, stepping up to the receptionist’s desk. “I need to see Flo Cash as soon as possible.”
The young woman gestured up to the speaker, which was spouting Flo’s voice. “She’s finishing up her show. But as soon as she’s done I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Good. The woman’s words meant Flo was on the premises and not hiding out elsewhere again like a lying, cheating coward.
I took a seat and perused a financial magazine, though my attention was much more focused on the show coming out of the speakers than the words on the pages. As soon as Flo signed off with her signature line—“Make your money make money for you!”—I was on my feet and standing again at the receptionist’s desk. “The show’s over. Get Flo.”
The young woman cast me a narrow-eyed look that said she clearly didn’t like being bossed around by someone who wasn’t her boss, but the fact that she stood and headed through the door that led to the sound booth told me she was smart enough to realize that pissing off an IRS agent wasn’t a wise move.
A moment later, she returned. “Miss Cash can see you now.”
“Thanks.”
I walked the few steps back to Flo’s booth and found her sitting inside, her feet propped up on the console. She was drinking fruit-flavored tea from her oversized TUNE IN TO THE FLO CASH CASH FLOW SHOW! mug. The scent of lemon hung in the air.
“Hello there,” she said, setting her oversized mug down. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” She jabbed a sound-effect button and a speaker on her desk emitted a hearty, “Yee-ha!”
So she was going to play dumb, huh? “You were supposed to meet me at your house at six o’clock Friday evening.”
“I was indeed,” she replied, pushing the clock sound effect. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. “Unfortunately, my car had other plans.” She pressed a series of buttons and the speaker spewed the ahoogah of an old-timey car horn followed by a sque-e-e of squealing of tires and a crash!
Flo was getting on my last nerve, but clearly that was precisely what she was trying to do. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was getting to me, even if I’d like nothing more at the moment than to yank my GLOCK from the holster at my waist and put a few rounds in her sound board. Bang-bang! “What do you mean, your car ‘had other plans’?”
“It futzed out on me on the freeway. Had to get it towed.” She reached over, grabbed a piece of paper from a plastic bin, and held it out to me. “See for yourself.”
I took the paper from her. It was a receipt from a towing service indicating that her car had been picked up at 6:42 Friday evening and towed to Ledbetter Cadillac. I handed the paper back to her. “That explains why you weren’t at your house. But it doesn’t explain why you didn’t call me to tell me you’d be late.”
“You never gave me your card.”
Hadn’t I? It felt like I passed the things out willy-nilly, but perhaps I had forgotten to give one to Flo. I couldn’t be certain. “My contact information appears at the end of my e-mails. I
sent you one several days ago to verify our initial appointment here.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t think to check my e-mails.”
I pulled a stack of business cards from my wallet and placed them on the console. “Here you go. That’s enough cards that you can put one in your purse, keep one here at the office, and take another home.” Hell, there were enough she could wipe her ass with them if she wanted.
She reached out, picked up the cards, and set two on their sides at odd angles, building a house of business cards. It was an ironic gesture, one that told me she was playing with me, that this investigation was nothing but a game to her. Well, it was much more than a game to me, and I wasn’t playing around.
“What time did you get home?” Presumably she had no idea how long Nick and I had waited at her house. Maybe I could catch her in a lie.
“Didn’t,” she said. “Not Friday night, anyway. I called a friend to pick me up and then I spent the night at her place.”
“You could’ve had your friend drive you to your house.”
“Didn’t see the point. By the time she showed up it was well after seven. I figured you’d have been long gone by then. You government employees aren’t exactly know for your hard work and dedication, you know.”
She chuckled, her words and her laughter rankling me. Government employees were no lazier than employees in the private sector. Lu wouldn’t tolerate any of her agents giving less than 100 percent, either.
“Besides,” Flo continued, “my friend had Rangers tickets and it wouldn’t have been right to make her miss the game.” She jabbed another button, this one playing the organ refrain from the “Charge” song commonly played at baseball games.
“So you went to the game with her?”
“Had to. It was the only polite thing to do.”
Polite, my ass.
“Weird thing, though,” she continued, eyeing me intently. “When I got home on Saturday morning, there were gardenia petals all over my lawn. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
I ignored her question. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if one of her neighbors had seen me playing “he loves me, he loves me not” with Flo’s flowers, and didn’t want to get caught in a lie myself. “You’ve been quite uncooperative, Miss Cash,” I said, cutting to the chase. “You realize I can issue an assessment based on the average of income for a radio station like this and it would be up to you to prove the numbers wrong in court. You could lose this station, put an end to everything your family worked so hard to build. Is that what you want?”
